


--> and the earth is warmer when you laugh.

by Black



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Body Horror, Bones Breaking, Demiromantic Sans, Depression, Disassociation, Human mettasans, M/M, NSFW, Other, This is a slew of angst fluff and nsfw, submissive sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black/pseuds/Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>// a collection of mettasans ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fever dream

**Author's Note:**

> extends my leg into the air  
> this is a series of mettasans fics because i will keep this god damn ship afloat  
> shoot me a comment if you wanna do some collab stuff i am totally up for it  
> thumbs up
> 
> also comment me some suggestions and maybe ill write your fic idea
> 
>  
> 
> ** also i use Neo as Mettaton's first name/a name w.e etc as a homage to Mettaton NEO

actual stars.  
Sans sits sheltered beneath the trees and his fingers  
fixate on anxiously picking the fuzz from the inside of his hoodie pockets.  
he had plucked some spots bald by now

but that isn't the point.

he's waiting for a reset. this was the furthest they've gotten in some time line some happy ending without an abrupt awakening from under his sheets under his blanket made of heavy wool - it unsettles him. his friends are concerned. he could tell. he paced the room, panicky and prickled when touched. his bones rattled and wheezed under the strain, the stress. Pap's look of worry always sank right past his ribs and settled heavy in his nonexistent stomach.

they always ask, " _what's wrong_?"  
he can never answer.  
instead, just stalks off, knees knocking as they tremble.

how does he explain to them though?  
how does he tell them that he's seen them die at the hands of some demon, no, some child. the exact child that had freed them even now from the underground - they were walking, possessed with some unholy anomaly.

"hey," the gentle voice startles him, but he settles down a moment or two later, shoulders slumping when he sees it's just hot babe and superstar Mettaton. just him. Sans shakes his head and chuckles a bit, leaning back against the tree and tilting his head up. he doesn't want Mettaton to see the mute horror in his eyes. he focuses on the stars and swallows, visibly tense at the weight that balances against the trunk next to him; "darling, you've been out here for quite awhile now."

a hum is his response at first, and then, "Neo, aren't the stars gorgeous?"

silence. shifting. Sans thinks he nods, but then speaks up when he realizes that the skeleton isn't looking, "better than the ones in Waterfall." the answer draws out something genuinely painful in Sans. he's not sure why. only nods in return. 

it takes a moment for him to gather the courage to speak again. he knows why Neo is here. he knows that he's worried too. nobody quite knew of how close they actually were - they all assumed that Sans just knew Mettaton from his every-once-in-awhile performances at the comedy club. they ran deeper than a passing glance and the hand on his forearm and how tenderly it touched him vouched for that. "i'm afraid i'm going to wake up one day," he says, and falls silent for a moment as he gathers the right words, "and we'll be back underground again. ya know? we'll be six feet under." a shitty joke, maybe to macabre, but it lessens the weight in his chest a little. "i'm  _star_ ting to freak out," and he bitterly laughs at his own pun, "i can't breathe."

Mettaton stands by, just eyeing him up warily. his grip never wavers. 

"ha ha. get it. i can't breathe? i'm a skeleton. i'm already dead." his voice trembles and he tries to steady it, Mettaton's hand only squeezes tight and Sans thinks it may be the only thing grounding him right now. if Metta wasn't here he'd be living and breathing among the stars right now, no cave ceiling to catch him. no luminescent stalagmites to wish upon. only rocks and stardust. it would be grit in his teeth. cold. "things are so messed up," he whispers, closing his eyes as he sinks to the ground, almost surprised when the robot sinks down with him, "im fucking terrified." 

he's so tired of resets.  
he's so god damn tired. 

there's nothing else spoken between them - Sans is only willing to budge and give up so much and Mettaton isn't going to push the skeleton any further. the wind rolls through the leaves above them and they hiss softly with the motion. Mettaton hooks an arm around Sans and tucks him into his side and oh, oh Sans is too tired to fight him. he fixates on the sky above and the way the star pinprick through the black and

he sighs. tension edging from his joints. 

 

when sans wakes up the next morning and slips out of his heavy wool blanket and   
opens the window to the sun, warmth creeping over his bones,

his sockets itch and ache - Papyrus greets him fondly from the garden below and he thinks that maybe for just today  
he can at least try to be okay. 


	2. sorry to be heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---> but heavy is the cost.  
> \---> heavy is the cost...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the angst but today has been emotionally trashy. 
> 
> ** inspired by personal by stars

it’s not his first nightmare and won’t be his last but there’s

things with teeth and they find that his bones are particularly delightful - easy to crunch through and he doesn’t blame them because they’re so brittle by now that he’s

pieced them back time and time again. tape. glue. spit and dirt, twigs and sticks and a little _magic_ to go with it. maybe they’re gaster blasters given body given life - conscious. they’re hazy but they look the part. 

maybe he’s finally eating himself. the guilt is eating him alive. with each purge, each timeline run genocide he watches as the human plunges their knife deep and tears at bone at flesh and scale and fur and metal and he watches

the world explode. snow and sand peppered with dust. metal blown to bits - Neo’s face disfigured and he’s wheezing as there’s teeth in his tibia and it hurts when it’s ripped from the socket but he figures

at this point, he deserves it. he wants to joke, wants to lighten the situation but it’s all dark and their eyes rattle loudly in their sockets like his bones- the anxiety is thrumming in his cranium.

and then it’s sunny and bright and he’s cradled in grass under a tree and the roots are wrapped in his ribs and he figures this is a fitting end - most skeletons decay in dirt and this will be his home fucking six feet under and he will thrive on worms and the cold cold earth. 

all is well.  
peaceful and the sun is warm and he stretches his toes, trying to free them from the shade because he wants to feel it. he wants to know that his failure isn’t so vehement isn’t so tiresome he wants to know something other than snow

something other than cold

_Mettaton is one of the last monsters to exit the underground and when he struts out he sees Sans sitting at the edge of the mountain under the midday sun and he’s just, sitting. sockets black and head tilted towards the warmth towards the light._

_“isn’t it nice?”_

_his voice is soft and MTT just catches the whisper as he sits next to him - it’s hoarse and tired. like he’s been here before. like he’s waiting. expecting something. Sans makes the uncharacteristic move to grab his hand, to hold it tight. like he needs to be grounded._

_“will you wait with me?”  
_

_the question catches the both of them off guard - Neo can see it in his eyes and the composure he attempts to keep. he wants to ask him what they’re waiting for. it’s on the tip of his tongue._

_“of course darling.”_

_he laces their fingers and squeezes, dangling his legs over the side of the cliff and swinging them a bit. eyes fixating focusing on all the trees and the buildings in the not so far distance. he doesn't flinch when Sans leans into his side and heaves a heavy sigh. it surprises him a bit because it's **Sans** , stoic Sans who always plays things off always cracks a pun, a joke. _

_but he sits._  
and waits.  
_and waits._  
and waits.

it ends with this - Sans wakes up.  
fingers in the wool blanket, teeth bared in anguish, sun still warm in his bones...


	3. the earth don't give a damn if you're lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---> trace your fingers down my spine.  
> \---> make your home behind my eyes.
> 
> ** inspired by Holy branches by Radical face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what am i even writing anymore  
> toss some requests at me

sometimes the nights were just spent in silence. 

Sans would never admit it was nice just to have some semblance of weight next to him. the soft rush of water outside of the walls provided a whole new level of zen. quiet. static. mute. Papyrus wouldn't be worried. he left a note. sent a text message. everything was fine.

well, that was a lie.  
it wasn't fine.  
nothing was fine outside of the house door and Sans never wanted to leave. he would never admit it. just how Metta would never admit that he actually liked having the skeleton around. it was always soft spoken between them - though some tension clung heavy to the air and Sans could feel the weight of it. oh he could feel the weight of it. he could see the weight of it behind Neo's eyes. the way they darkened when they stepped foot inside of the house and watched bad musicals together. disks that Sans had scavenged from the garbage dump. things he had collected, bought off other monsters. found. 

it was always dark.  
warm.  
that type of deep quiet that found itself way into his bones and lived there. heavy. alive.   
he would strip down to his shirt and shorts and they would pile into the bed (Metta's bed was barely big enough for the two of them but they made it work) and they would just, pop in whatever seemed interesting enough and watch. the TV flickering gently. bodies pushing and pulling to offbeat rhythms and Sans could nearly see the stars in Mettaton's eyes. he admired the humans so much.

 _there's body parts and blown metal everywhere and again again he was too cowardly to stop_  
_the grubby fingers wrapped around the  
_ _hilt of the knife and Neo had suffered for it, all of his friends did even his own brother because he was too fatigued to lift a finger._

_what if this time would have been different?  
Sans laughs bitterly at the creeping thought - he'd wait for the inevitable. _

"you're shaking darling," he sounds tired. fingers snake around his forearm. the bones are sensitive and his first reaction is to pull away but he relaxes, doesn't apologize. Neo doesn't seem to be expecting one. they resume watching, one of the humans swinging the other as they belt out lyrics, voice cracking pitifully and Sans winces. it draws a laugh out of the robot and a genuine smile from the skeleton.

silence, and then - "could she be any more off key?"

they're both laughing at Neo's offhanded comment. it's loud and unforgiving. he's sure if that Napstablook is home, they'll hear it. maybe they'll finally stop by. maybe Neo will reconcile with them and all will be righted in the world and maybe the timeline will deviate and maybe it'll be different. maybe he won't relive this night anymore. maybe he can live nights like these on the surface. 

maybe he can find happiness - it's was a foolish thought but the way MTT smiled was like whoa hey, if he had a heart made out of blood and muscle it'd be thundering. clattering hard behind ribs. it was genuine and everything Mettaton that monsters only wish they saw. he dropped the act behind closed doors and Sans appreciated that robot so much more. 

it's when the musical or whatever the hell that god awful thing was ends and Sans decides to spend the night that everything is quiet and gentle. the darkness is tired. it yawns and stretches from wall to wall and even though Neo's bed is small, they make it work. it ends with Neo half spooning him but Sans doesn't mind the touch doesn't mind the comfort - he'll never admit it - but the way that Mettaton's fingers trace up and down his bones is the sweetest feeling. it calms him. swells in his chest. beyond the skin he doesn't have. his soul stutters. blue and washed out. pale from the little hp he has and there's hairline cracks that threaten to split him apart. 

this is almost too intimate for him. but he doesn't dare speak. just breathes. sharp. a little too loud - it sends the darkness scattering and disrupts whatever had settled between them. Neo hushes him and his fingers work against his clavicle, shoulders - his sockets are heavy. those hands melt against his cheekbones and he's unconsciously leaning into their touch. 

he knows what comes next.   
it's like the ending to a bad book - the kid can't help rereading it in hopes that the ending will change. there's nothing past the point in which they can't see. everything has to be visible, tangible. no matter the combination, no matter the path walked it's all the same when the pages are done. unsatisfying. and sure, there's some out there who will write their own endings. they'll peg him as sad and sleepy and exhausted (which he is, god he is) but they'll write him a way out. 

they'll find a timeline he can have nights like these on the surface. they'll write him as strong and level headed. Neo will be gorgeous. beautiful. Sans will admire him. fingers will find his ribs and count and Sans will cling to the numbers as his own personal lullaby. his voice is so soft in the quiet, the dark. he's drifting. 

is this how it feels to be content?

by the time they reach the bottom set of ribs, he's unresponsive. bony fingers clutched tight in the sheets and he's fitted so sweetly against the robot's chest. it's not long after that the mechanical hum, the whirring stops and Neo is powering down. the soul container that mummers such a soft pink is the only light that remaims on. the liquid is thick like sugar and on the nights that Sans can't sleep, he likes to busy his eyes on the air bubbles that pepper the thick plastic and crawl upward.

living.

alive. 

but in this timeline, he rests. he allows himself to be spindled willingly in the darkness. allows himself to hope that maybe, some day, the loop will break. he'll be thieved from it. put into something so in character that he can't tell he difference between reality and fiction. 

he tucks his head under Neo's chin as he shifts and rolls,   
sighs,  
and sleeps. 


	4. Who will love you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--> Who will fight?  
> \--> Who will fall far behind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **inspired by Bon Iver - skinny love
> 
> ** HUMAN Mettasans
> 
> this is sickening personal fluff so dont comment on how dumb and sappy it is i need to get out some personal stuff with this too
> 
> also demiromantic Sans sO  
> also that's my Neo rp partner's personal nickname for my Sans so i'd prefer if you didn't just.....outright adopt it unless you thought of it too then good for u

it's four am when Sans has the nightmare.  
it's four o' eight am when Neo is gently shaking him and talking to him

hushed. soft. slow.  
whispering his name.  
and then louder.

and it's four fifteen am when Sans finally opens his eyes.

it's a slow coming to. they dart wildly behind his eyelids before they snap open - a sharp gasp following, and then a slumping of limbs as all the energy leaves him. all the fight. his teeth hurt - he's been clenching them. his palms ache where the nails had bitten into skin. even in the soft dark - he can see the worry in Neo's eyes. he doesn't say anything, what does he even say? that he still has bad dreams? that he's still afraid of resets, of dying and waking elsewhere?

that he's afraid of falling in love all over again?  
love didn't come easy - not to him. it was like pulling teeth. it was like stripping skin from bone. sinews popping as it ripped. love was something hard for him, romantic feelings were fuzzy and heavy. a grey area. sometimes Sans still questions if what he feels now is even remotely close to how other people feel about love. about - god this was so fucked up. the insecurities ran deep and Neo didn't know the half of it.

there's a soft hand against his cheek and unconsciously, he leans into it. the fan on the nightstand is a welcomed drone, hum. lightening the tension between them with noise. weightless noise. it broke the heaviness and scattered it and Neo's lips are on his. sweet. soft. dry, chapped, warm. his wild bedhead tickles his forehead as he tilts his face a bit, bringing them closer and Sans is always so scared to kiss him back. always afraid that if he steps too far into affection and settles down, he will wake up

and the fever dream will end again.

"my sweet sugarskull," and his lips curl into a smile at the nickname, and there's the partial dismissal of anxiety. reality dips and bends - time almost dulls into a whisper. a murmur. he can hear it in his head. the sand gritty as it pebbles through the thin waist of the hourglass. he thinks he may be disassociating, but with Neo's lips on his forehead, he doesn't think too much on the thought.

fingers are wrapping around his and it's grounding.  
he's hyper-focused on Neo's weight and the itchy fabric of the wool blanket against his back. this is real. he's real. Neo's real. the lips on his chin are real.

"are you real?"

a kiss to the back of his held hand, "i'm right here."

"okay, just checking."

and he figures, people don't talk like this. this is terrible fiction. this isn't a decent four am conversation. they should be rolling around in the sheets, clung tightly to each other. skin on skin. legs tangled and lower lips between teeth. primal. animalistic. they shouldn’t be awake at four am for no fucking reason and the room shouldn’t be this quiet.

he considers apologizing.  
Neo settles back down next to him and hooks an arm around him, pulling him up to his chest and tucking his head beneath his chin.  
he considers apologizing.  
Neo hums softly. it reverberates in his chest. Sans thinks that this may be the most beautiful person to ever touch his soul.  
he considers apologizing.  
Neo is four forty five am raw with emotion and sleep. there’s lips pressed to the top of his head and they keep position.

Sans finds his fingers fit perfectly into the dips of Neo’s hip that’s free from the sheets. he leaves them there. “thank you,” he follows up after ten minutes of silence between them. a melodic hum, acknowledging him, but refusing to break tune.

he drifts back off to the smell of lavender and lucidity.  
the bed sheets and the arms tangled about his body felt like home and he thinks that maybe for once the porch light can be kept on. despite the moths despite the mangled thought of gutting the place out again.

Neo combs his fingers through his hair and  
Sans thinks that reality for once may be sweeter than sugarskulls. maybe be as sweet as Neo’s warm smile in his sleep at six am when Sans wakes from the dead and the morning light yawns across their bed.

he shifts.  
settles.  
and it takes a few moments,  
but he finds sleep again.


	5. Or are you my soul? my heart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \-- > pull everything apart?  
> \-- > are you gonna, are you gonna be my love?  
> \-- > are you gonna, are you gonna be my love?
> 
> ** Shark by oh wonder  
> ** HUMAN Mettasans  
> ** Vaguely nsfw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is something super old i wrote around christmas im just now finishing.  
> unedited.  
> it's 5 am.
> 
> not my fave piece of writing but there's parts i do like.

Sans lay in front of the tree, fixated on the lights.

multi-colored. multi-dimensional. twinkling.

he's by himself in the living room - the party had migrated outside and left him lonely but that's how he preferred it most of the time. his body is heavy and numb and tired and his lips are curled in some sort of cheshire grin. how familiar. the cup of vodka near him is nearly empty and he clumsily takes another drink, the liquor that doesn't grace his tongue finding it's way down his cheeks and chin, cold under his ears before settling into the fur hood of his jacket.

ahhh.

he can hear Pap laughing outside.

his brother is the best. the _coolest_ and he can't even compare.

"Well aren't you looking worse for wear," could it be, " _Darling._ "  
oh, how did he guess?

a smile, "well if it isn't Mettabae?" he makes no attempt to greet him in any sort of way except a spared glance. his blue eye is bright and wild in the light of the christmas tree, the other dark and growing darker, weighted by pigment and regret, "to what do I owe the honor?"

he's expecting some sort of snappy and shitty come back.

something about Mettaton being better,  
about being more put together,  
etc, etc, etc.

what he gets is a shrug,  
and a slightly defeated looking super star that drops down next to him, "I'm not...feeling very festive, or sociable."

there's a long silence between them, before Sans mutters out, "same."

"I just wasn't expecting to find company in here," Mettaton takes a drink of his cocktail, sounding a little too honest for his taste. he doesn't have to say things have been tough lately because Sans can see it in his face. his eyes. heavy. empty. time stands still for a few moments and Sans can swear he's seen this before, "am I bothering you?"

a wink, "nah Mettabae. i'm just, i dunno...here? you can stay though." hesitation is his response and he gets it. he does. Mettaton is more comfy cozy with Pap because oh, his brother is so _fucking cool_ and friendly and he's real good with people. Sans finds he is the opposite. oh. haha. to his surprise, Mettaton nods. and climbs down onto the ground, cocktail still in hand, pulling his knees to his chest and sighing heavily.

they're quiet at first.

the lights shudder in the depths of the tree and Sans chases them with his eyes.

"so..." Neo begins and Sans just nods at the single word spoken, tongue heavy, heavier as he takes another messy drink. Pap screech laughs from the backyard and both Sans and his company turn their heads towards the kitchen. Sans snorts. Neo smiles, "he's really come out of his shell."

oh boy, small talk about his brother, he could do this.

"hasn't he?" Sans takes another drink, frowning as he finishes the cup but he supposes that's for the better (wait, hadn't he already finished it? guess not.) he takes a moment to appreciate how he can't even taste the liquor at this point before continuing, "ever since he went to that one party with Undyne and people actually ate his cooking, he's been pretty much a social butterfly." isn't that how it goes? "at least....i think. hell, i think it might just be because he's hanging out with Undyne and actually being introduced to people." he motions to the back door, "shit man i don't even know half those people out there." truth be told, it makes him anxious, but he leaves that part out.

Mettaton takes a drink and follows up the silence with, "tell me about it" before awkwardly shuffling down onto the floor with him. the carpet is stiff and uncomfortable, so he can only imagine how drunk the super star has to be to actually lay down there with him. it is a surprise when there's warmth and skin crammed against his side - he makes no move to pull away from the head that's nestled into his shoulder. the arm tossed across the top of his stomach.

honestly?

it devolves into something comfortable.

this is familiar. painfully. "as if i've lived this before," Sans mutters into Metta's sweater, closing his eyes as fingers find his mohawk and fingers card through the roots. he sighs softly, cableknit catching the heat of it and - his head is swimming. he's almost forgotten where they are. alone. together. he can hear Undyne yelling the back about - well, it didn't matter at this point.

what timeline was this again?

everything is starting and stopping and geez - they had gotten to this point rather fast hadn't they? Neo leaning against his chest and just, relaxing for once. Sans beside him, drunk with a bad case of vodka tongue and what the hell had happened in the past hour? his memory is fuzzy and he can just barely recall their conversation. some drunken banter about how Undyne and Alphys should just get married and get it fucking over with. right?

he worries his teeth into his lower lip.

"darling," the voice is exhausted with tequila and bad decisions, "you're shaking."

_he's shaking because he's drunk and he wants to die_

"i'm tired," he admits, "are you?"

a thoughtful nod, "i'm drunk." Sans thoughtfully nods back after a moment.  
well, at least he was honest.

reluctantly, he untangles himself from Neo and sits up, knocking over the empty red solo cup as he clambers to his feet. "come on," he reaches down, easily pulling the Mettababe up when offered a hand, "you can stay here tonight." and he doesn't say that it'll be in his bed but it's pretty much implied as he's pulling Neo up the stairs, eyes heavy body heavy and his fingers are warm and wrapped around the other's wrist.

he opens his door, apologizes softly for the slight mess (the pile of socks on the floor is super attractive Sans) but neither seem to care because **bed + liquor = holy shit so soft** and Sans is down to his boxers and Metta is a little more reserved in raiding his closet and drawers and stealing a fairly over-sized shirt and a pair of boxers that just cling so loosely to his hips that he may lose them just by walking. that arm is tossed over his stomach again and that warmth returns to his side and

this isn't their first encounter with vodka or one another all in the same sentence.  
they're on and off on and off on and off  
and Pap is always teasing him about the hickies on his neck after single night romps.

"Sans," Neo's lips are hot on his neck, "are we gonna be alright?"

his voice sounds far too vulnerable for _the_ Neo Mettaton.  
though Sans remember, this is _the_ very _drunk_ Neo Mettaton.

he didn't answer - at first. he didn't know how vocally. but he turns into the body the warmth and finds his chin with liquor-shaky fingers and kisses him. his mask was long abandoned at the beginning of the night so Neo's lips were easy to find, and god they were soft and desperate and there's teeth in his lower lip and everything has happened so fast. there's chunks out of his memory missing or maybe he's just too inebriated to think more on them.  they weren't important.

what is important was the way he straddled Sans' hips at three in the morning while their friends lingered outside - vaguely heard through the glass of his bedroom window. they quietly laughed, in the midst of that party wind-down and he laughs against Neo's lips as his hips rocked downward, blankets bunched up below him and digging uncomfortably into his back. he doesn't dare say anything though in fear of when he slides his hands under Mettaton's shirt, he'll scatter like some fever dream and disappear.

from the crack in his bedroom door, he can see the tree downstairs. all gussied up in lights and they catch in Neo's lidded eyes.  
he fixates on them, long after climax and long after Neo has found sleep in his arms.

multi-colored. multi-dimensional. twinkling.

"as if i've lived this before," Sans mutters into Metta's naked shoulder, closing his eyes as the arm tightens around his stomach. pulls him closer.

he'll wake up tomorrow, hung over, but alive. Neo will make tea and Sans will make coffee - a slightly more hungover than them Undyne will fire off some sly comment about how they should just get together and get it fucking over with already. they'll laugh it off.

the thought of a reset crammed into the back of his skull, not the forefront worry.  
for once.


	6. If there's no one beside you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \---> ...when your soul embarks  
> \---> ...then I'll follow you into the dark
> 
> ** Death Cab for Cutie - I Will Follow You Into The Dark  
> ** HUMAN Mettasans  
> ** ...nsfw?? yeah it is oops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda sorta filled a request??  
> Steampunkgirl198 left the comment " Sans, years later since the last reset and realizing that this time, this time it really is going to be alright. That even though the nightmares are still there, that's all they are anymore. That he has a life aboveground with his brother and his friends and Mettaton and it's his to keep" and the last bit really kicked some muse up so!!! sorry it's human Mettasan but it fit the feels. 
> 
> also sorry some nsfw crept in.
> 
> it's also one of my hc that sans picks up music specifically acoustic guitar as a coping thing so sorry if that comes out of nowhere? it's that one damn video that gets me every time. you know the one.

fingers pluck at guitar strings and it’s haunting in the quiet room. everything is dark and it’s early morning and Mettaton’s eyes are open. his teeth worry at his lower lip and he’s sitting up, blankets heaping from his body down to his lap.

he shuffles to the bedroom window and  
there he is in the garden. guitar clutched tight to  
his chest - hair mussed and uncombed.

the white mohawk is a beacon in the cooling dawn.

Neo spares a glance at his phone - six twenty two am.

the carpet is soft beneath his feet as he trudges down the stairs, Pap snoring loud enough to hear from the hallway at the bottom. he slides on his sandals and out the back door as quietly as he can, gently closing it in his wake.

Sans registers his presence a few moments after Neo lingers directly in front of him, but never ceasing with his song. his eyes are lidded and the skin holding them up is dark. ringed. “looks good on you,” he croaks tiredly, nodding towards the familiar blue hoodie that Mettaton had snatched off the back of the chair near the door, “i didn’t expect an audience.”

Neo opens his mouth.

“i had a nightmare.”

Neo closes his mouth.

he hesitates before sitting on the small concrete table next to the ledge where Sans is currently seated, struggling to fold his legs up on such a small surface but somehow succeeding in his endeavor. “you know…” he begins, carefully choosing his words, “we’re okay Sans. it’s been, how long? i don’t...think there will be a reset.”

a ghost of a smile, but at least it’s there.

“i know,” he says after a few more minutes of strumming, the melody slow and longing. tired. “they’re just nightmares. of waking up again.” of the love from Neo’s eyes gone. of the only thing alight in them stardom. the thought of fame. of Sans being nowhere to be found when he looks in. of the knife in his chest, dragging down. splitting skin. guts and gore. “but that’s all they are.”

Neo’s fingers find his calf and squeeze gently. he responds positively to the touch so Neo edges a little closer, giving him a small smile and a nod. Sans hums to his own rhythm, going slack in Neo’s company. relaxed. his shoulders drop.

the air is cool - goosebumps pebble his skin.

Neo slowly shifts himself over to the ledge to sit beside him, finding home in his side. fingers shyly, gently curling against his bicep, head nuzzled against his own. Sans nearly melts. this is his. the world is his. there’s ownership, feet planted on the ground.

so much less floaty.  
so much less in the air.

he felt less ghostly - like his heart had sustenance and his soul no longer felt choked. cobbled into pieces that he had to force back together with spit and sticks and glue, tape. whatever Pap had stashed in the dressers.

it’s his to keep.

he turns his head and presses his lips to Neo’s cheek and holds them there, a soft sigh puffed through his nose and there’s fingers trying to neatly style his mohawk (which is a total loss).

“come back to bed with me,” his voice is honey sweet, soft against the skin right below his ear, “please?”

he stops strumming and the lack of noise the lack of music in the air is almost unsettling. the ghost of it still lingers and everything is quiet, even the birds have settled in the early morning glow. sometimes his boyfriend did a bang up job of breaking him of these weird fits.

where he could feel how heavy his bones were but that was it.  
nothing more.

“okay,” he says after a moment, nodding, and making motion to get up. he lets Mettaton slowly lead him back inside, propping his guitar up on the wall near the patio door. he kicks off his flip flops and Neo does the same before trudging upstairs, hyper aware of the carpet under his feet. every fiber. every little nudge of fabric against the soles of his heels.

hyper aware of the way Neo drags him back into the sheets after closing the door. hands on him. the tips of nails so sweet on his skin - the blankets are laughably kicked to the side after no more than ten minutes of being back in bed.

mornings are messy.

either full of fever dreams or full of waking nightmares. with the heat of the sun yawning across sheets, limbs tangled and awkwardly bent in some tight embrace or full of fear, tips of his fingers freezing cold and his heart a racket in his chest.

either end the same though - Neo seeking him out in some quiet fashion. with steady hands. tired on his cheeks. Neo’s lips are on his jaw, chin.

Sans tilts his head so their mouths meet.  
he tastes like the oppopsite of fatigue, like the pull and push of ocean waves. like the gentle sun that stretches over a field of wild strawberries. the dirt that holds them firm and loves them tenderly.

Neo moves between his spread legs and the birds have finally begun to sing again out in the garden. his teeth worry into his bottom lip as Mettaton trails careful fingers down his inner thighs, muscles jumping at the feather light contact.

and suddenly he’s grounded.  
he’s fallen back down, fingers curling against Mettaton’s shoulder and pulling him closer, the heat in his stomach rolling heavy as their hips meet. he shifts, tilts his head and arches his back a bit. Neo takes advantage of it and pushes just the slightest bit deeper, and Sans can only let loose a breathy sigh at the feeling.

the blankets are heaped at the foot of the bed, abandoned on the floor.  
the sheets are clutched tight in his fists, pulled tight to the sides of his head. lips parted with the smallest of noises as Neo holds him firm and fucks him.

there’s no disguising it with flowery language.

it’s real and he’s aware that he’s alive. that he’s lived this timeline for far longer than the others. he lost count at day three hundred and sixty five.

it comes later when his thighs are a mess and the sheets will need to be washed, Neo crams into his side despite how their skin sticks together. “shower?” he asks softly, fingers finding his chin and holding it, lips soft against his skin, “early laundry day?”

it comes quick, and swift, abrupt - Sans laughs. he laughs looking at the ruin of the bed and the poor sheets under him and the crunched fabric where he held on so tightly he was sure he had ripped it. “yeah,” Sans sits up, smile genuine on his lips, looking at Mettaton who stretches all of his limbs like a lazy cat, “early laundry day.”

the clock reads nine twenty eight am and Neo’s smile is as radiant as the sun.

fingers creep together and clasp tight, the quiet no longer so haunting.


	7. one day I’ll remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--> how the words go  
> \--> if one day you’ll teach me  
> \--> all the right notes
> 
> It's alright - Matt & Kim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from my personal youtuber au which i've slowly been writing.  
> i figured i needed to update this fic
> 
> *Human mettasans
> 
> Sans is youtube lets player, MTT is his florist boyfriend who is far too good at RPGs, and Pap has a popular cooking show :3c  
> the full thing will be up whenever i'm not lazy. i wrote this FOREVER ago.

“Pap is doing better,” Sans smiles into the camera, “he's on bed rest right now after the car accident. But...he’ll be cooking again in no time.” a pause, “so make sure to tune in for his return in a few weeks. he’ll be excited to hear that people actually miss him.”

Sans clacks away at the buttons on his controller, legs folded under him in the chair and they’re slowly going numb but he can’t move now - the boss’s health is halfway down and he’s been on this for hours. the chat sputters out the name _Neo_ and his fingertips tingle a bit, a sigh cracking the silence, “he’s okay. you’ve seen him upload videos. yeah?”

_what about you two_

a small smile. he doesn’t answer. other users chastise the asker, knowing that Sans has said multiple times before that he doesn’t want to talk about it not right now at least and that he’ll address it later. his eyes are sad, and he glances up into them through the web cam. “i fucked up,” he says, “Neo was trying to help me. and i was an asshole to him and i realize it now.” he evades the boss, character ducking to the right as the sword comes down. hesitation, “i still love him. very much. there’s a lot we haven’t been public about, and we’ll let it go when we’re ready.”

 _that’s adorable_ _  
_ _you were cute together_  
_we miss your collab let’s plays_

“i know, i know,” the character rolls to the left, “i know guys.” he quiets for a moment in concentration, huffing and then looking back to the webcam at a cutscene,  “trust me. i miss it too. yeah? just, tolerate this asshole while he, i don’t know. attempts to not be an asshole.”

_are you trying to fix things?_

“is the sky blue?” Sans yawns, eyes flickering back to the game as the cutscene ends, missing the onslaught of people not appreciating his sarcasm. he’s so wrapped up in his game that he doesn’t hear Papyrus calling - well he vaguely hears it but tells himself that he’ll check in soon. he growls as he loses a bit of health, eyes burning, so fixated on pixels. he doesn’t hear the thump of feet up the stairs. he doesn’t hear the soft chuff, the quiet laugh but he does see the chat suddenly explode.

words and phrases and - “hey, what’s up?”

he jumps as hands slide over his shoulders and he’s keeping his eyes focused on the fight, nails lightly dragging down his shirt. a smile curls his lips beneath the mask. “i tried to call you,” lips are soft against his ear, “but i see why you couldn’t answer now.” a pause, “you’re getting your ass kicked.”

laughter. there’s hands on his neck, holding his chin and cheeks from below, a chin on his shoulder as the body behind him stoops down. they work his mask from his face gently and Sans says fuck it, tears his eyes away from the screen, and kisses him. hard. Neo very carefully holds his chin, thumb working against the skin and there's a sweet smile. Sans is so enamored - so in love. when he looks back to the screen, he is long defeated but no longer cares.

“lunch?” Neo hums, looking back over to the webcam and smiling a bit, waving. the chat is having a heart attack - but it's of no concern right now, “it looks like you've been freed up.” a soft laugh suffices as his answer and then he jerks in surprise when Neo presses into his lap, crossing his long legs and _god_ that sweater is fucking adorable on him. “let your boyfriend chase that bad man away,” he picks up the controller, a coy smile on his lips, and Sans can do nothing but smile and shake his head.

“you heard him guys,” he smiles into the camera, “im not man enough to handle this.”

 _Holy shit killerxrobot and coolskeleton69 are back together  
_ _Oh no he's still just as cute  
_ _Of course you're not man enough_  
_Killerxrobot could kick your ass anyday_

It takes exactly fifteen minutes for Neo to speedrun the boss. Sans admits defeat and MTT leans back against him, the biggest grin cracking his lips. he swings himself off his lap and drops the controller, cocky, extending his arms in mock threat.

“come the hell at me Cool Skeleton,” he says, dropping his bag fluidly into the leather armchair near as he all but saunters from the room, hips swaying. he doesn't look back.

Sans glances into the webcam. the chat is going insane - and he manages to smile. “sorry guys, i got business to attend to.” he doesn't waste any time in giving his outro and chase, following Neo’s sweet laughter from beyond the hall.


	8. This is what he wrote in the ripped-up note:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \-->I've become something even less than a ghost.  
> \-->Even more of a though, I've become a mirage.  
> \-->I'm the shaky air encircling the flickering flame.  
> \-->I'm the white wall swallowing the window frame. 
> 
> \-->Don't be so afraid of the insomnia plague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** inspired by Insomnia Plague by Sea Oleena
> 
> Guitar!Sans dedicated to akibouken @ tumblr due to the super cute fanart they did. 
> 
>  
> 
> [CLICK here to see it!!!](http://writtenblackk.tumblr.com/post/141710340783)
> 
>  
> 
> Also ^^^ that's my tumblr.  
> I finally made one dedicated to my fiction so come send me HCs or questions or REQUESTS god send me requests i love writing small stuff. i'll probably be posting things there that I won't on here, etc etc.

“shitty day?” Mettaton’s eyes flicker back at the source of the voice and Sans is sprawled across the couch, legs stretched over the end, the top of his skull just reaching the middle. _how did he keeping getting in here so quietly -_ MTT sighs and rubs his hands together, focusing on the feeling as he tries to gather the right words to say.

a hard swallow - “yeah.” shooting his shows just weren’t going right. hell, equipment kept breaking, monsters kept panicking, and he really wishes Alphys hadn’t outfitted him with such a keen emotional output. he had been fine without knowing what exhaustion felt like when it worked into the joints of his fingers, his legs and knees and…”it hasn’t been the best darling.”

the skeleton had been coming around more and more lately, it’s not like he had actually invited Sans in - okay maybe once. only once. and ever since then the other had just been kinda - letting himself in? he would turn around from getting dressed or just walk into the fitting room to find him there. waiting. and at first MTT thought that Sans would surely need to be booted out and shooed away.

not many preferred his company as of late - monsters found him strange.

he always carried that air that he knew far more than anybody else and at first Mettaton couldn’t stand it. but. when the silence washes over him and his sockets sputter out into that endless black, he can see a whole different exhaustion, but greater.

“maybe i can cheer you up,” bones rattle when he swings his feet from the armchair of the couch and he sits up, fishing his hand behind it for a couple seconds before pulling out his prize. the paint is riddled with hairline cracks and it looks like Sans has tried his best to save what he can of it. the robot watches him with interest (when did that get there?), setting down the brush and letting his shoulders drop a bit. his internal fans are softly humming - working to cool him down from the day’s performance but it doesn’t seem to skew the atmosphere any.

and oh - the guitar is beaten to hell and back but when he strums it, the sound is warm and lingers between them. intimate. MTT shifts a bit uncomfortably. the skeleton meets his eyes, hands still, before relaxing a bit and letting his fingers work their magic on the strings. the once quiet fitting room is filled with music - it creeps into every corner and up every wall and into his mechanical joints. his eyes widen and he wonders _how_ Sans can play so well.

did he pick this up out of the trash heap one day? would some human really throw this away? monsters knew of music from other things tossed down from above -  Napstablook had fallen in love and sought to make his own - but Mettaton had never experienced this before. he’s lost for a moment, looking at Sans but not really paying attention to him as a whole.

the guitar has him wrapped up in some sort of limbo, some sort of grey space where - what was he upset about again? a smile curls his lips and he uncrosses his leg from atop the other, hooking his heel on the chair and just, listening. this was nice.

at this point - he couldn’t see why monsters avoided Sans. ever since he had been stowing away into MTT’s dressing room, he’s been nothing but respectful, maybe a little too heavy on the puns, but he’s offered some great feedback on show ideas, and just things in general. especially with the stunted relationship between he and Napstablook.

this makes him miss his cousin - the music.

though when Mettaton finally does focus in on Sans, he’s almost surprised to see the blatant sadness that wracks his form. he’s not crying, he’s not shaking (trembling, maybe?) but oh - his sockets have teetered into black and that smile is false. it’s etched into bone into the melody. it’s a little downtrodden but god it’s beautiful.

“Sans,” that dark is pinpricked white and his fingers stutter against the strings a bit, but pick right back up into place, “are you alright?” his voice is soft, so unlike MTT and he rises from the chair, pausing to take his first step towards him - before taking a seat on the empty couch cushion beside him.

no surprise - Sans nods. sighs. and then he hums. some of the sadness has been chased away and there’s a bit of gentleness to him now, sockets focused on him and only him. the skeleton knows something - he’s got something he keeps locked away deep in his rib cage deep into the marrow of his bones and even when prompted, Mettaton has finally accepted the fact that Sans will more than likely never talk.

he just lets him be sad, lets him be heavy.  
the couch can withstand the weight and so can the robot.

maybe that’s why Sans kept coming back;  
he still remembers the mutter of, “ _just give up, i did_ .”  
and his lack of response.  
(what gets said to something like that?)

“Sweetheart,” Mettaton smiles softly as Sans leans in a bit close, resting his skull on the robot’s upper arm, shifting his entire person to scoot closer. some of the blue paint chips off the instrument as he moves but that’s okay - MTT works his fingers gently against the fur of Sans’ hoodie just to give them something to do.

this couldn’t go on forever but - the melody enveloped them both and Mettaton thought that this was possibly Sans’ way of talking. of telling him what he kept tangled so deep. he slid his fingers against the back of his skull and held him sweetly, tenderly. abnormal interaction for such a superstar and just a fan, but deep in his circuits he felt some sort of draw to the skeleton. as if this wasn’t the first time. as if this was something tangible, kept close.

a low chuckle, “so, i’m hungry.” Sans tilts his head back and pops his neck, a shudder rolling through him, “you wanna go get dinner Mettababe?” the words are so quiet that he barely registers them, and it does take him a few moments to get back with the response of -

“sure darling, i can spare the time.”


	9. of course my boy, i'll take you in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--> From the rain,  
> \--> from the wind.  
> \--> It is gods will,  
> \--> that brought me you.   
> \--> So as my own,   
> \--> I'll love you true.
> 
> ** Sang Joseph - Fences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff.  
> for once. 
> 
> my personal youtuber au, that's very dear to me.   
> Sans is a big anxious demiromantic mess and MTT tries to understand.  
> insecurity is hard.
> 
> a vent piece more than anything, i could use some affection.
> 
> ** human mettasans  
> ** fluff

sometimes his anxiety is bad.   
it whispers…things  
that crawl down his neck and unsettle his soul.   
pattering hard, caged with ribs and ridicule. 

“you love me?” Sans looks at Neo from the opposite end of the couch, his attention straying from the horror movie chatter in the background, “really?”

his boyfriend gives him an incredulous look, “darling if I didn’t love you i wouldn’t have started any sort of relationship with you.” Neo looks almost offended that Sans is asking, and it makes him feel small. the gamer rubs the back of his neck and nearly shrinks under Mettaton’s gaze, the heat biting his cheeks. 

he gives a soft apology and pulls his knee tighter into his chest, burying the lower half of his face against it to try and hide his embarrassment. this is partially why Toriel broke up with him in the first place - he didn’t want to repeat the mistake with Neo. the thought shook him, he had never felt this close to somebody before in so little time.

sure, it was normal for him to get attached to the people he let in. Sans kept his friends close and he panicked over dumb shit like them leaving all the time. he’d never admit it out loud to anybody, but abandonment was something he was used to. 

_ thanks dad _ .

it helped to play games - it really did. they were his mental escape. when he interacted with his fans and just concentrated on getting to the end of some goal, some level, he felt the weight lift. at least Neo understood that to some extent.

“Sugarskull,” his boyfriend’s voice is filled to the brim with concern and it beckons Sans’ gaze, “what’s wrong?”

he swallows, and opens his mouth once he stomachs the nervous lump to explain that -

“and don’t you dare say it’s nothing.”

he closes his mouth. Neo’s hands find his own, he hadn’t even realized he’d curled them so tightly into the blanket. they ache when he unfurls them and they feel so heavy in Neo’s dainty ones. “i’m sorry for doubting you,” his voice cracks a bit but he manages to hold it together, “i just…” he sighs, unable to look at him anymore, “i’ve never had somebody like you.”

there’s hesitation in those hands.   
a hiccup in the comfort.   
as if the words  _ do  _ something.   
_ mean  _ something. 

they pull from his hands and he’s terrified for a moment that Neo is moving away, making motion to leave. he’s done. this is it. everything is done, he’s fucked up again and he turns his head to speak again but he finds the hands move up to gently unhook the mask from his face. 

Sans lets him. 

it’s easy enough - it’s set aside and his face is naked. he feels vulnerable. “sweetheart, i’m not mad at you.” there’s soft lips on his chin. “i was joking with you,” they find his lips. soft. slow. unyielding. something tender - he’s never experienced emotion this way. 

it will always surprise him that Neo is strong enough to do things like to pull Sans into his lap, and then support his weight. he’s not the thinnest stick on the tree, but 

he’s coddled to his boyfriend’s chest, blanket and all. the heat in his cheeks creeps down to his shoulders and throat. neck. there’s a single kiss laid right between his eyes and Neo is pulling the blanket over them both. “you’re okay Sans,” there’s fingers carding through his hair and it eases the tension from his joints, his bones. he unclenches his teeth and relaxes his jaw. “it’s okay. i love you, darling.” a small kiss to his forehead, “and i know you love me too.”

Sans smiles. it’s tired and gentle. “i think Silent Hill is halfway over by now,” his voice is quiet, half muffled by Neo’s shirt, “sorry.” he’s only half sincere with his apology - horror movies weren’t Sans  _ favorite  _ things. he was more of a comedy guy himself but oh, Neo. Neo ate up horror. 

his smile before the answer of, “then we’ll just have to start over!” doesn’t at all surprise him. 

but Sans nods and relaxes in his boyfriend’s lap, the hands on affection chasing the anxiety at hand away to the point that he can relax. he presses a gentle kiss to Neo’s neck and settles down at the opening plays once more, and he thinks it’s adorable how excited his boyfriend is.

it’s a shame he’s so tired.  
and warm.   
and comfortable.   
it really is. 

because it’s not even ten minutes back into the movie before he’s curling against Neo’s chest, drowsy with sleep and exhaustion. nails are rhythmic against his scalp and the feeling of safety -

the anxiety, the insecurities, it’ll all be back tomorrow and he knows it. it’ll seep back in. cold. crawl into his skin and make home there. he’ll be a trembling mess by mid-morning but with Neo spending the night - maybe  an early morning hug and some warm tea will ease the edge off. 

Sans smiles as Neo rests his cheek against the top of his head, pulling him closer and humming softly in his throat. deep. low. reverberating in his chest...

he’s asleep in two minutes of closing his eyes.    
  



	10. when you're so lonely, lying in bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--> night's closed it's eyes but you can't rest your head  
> \--> everyone's sleeping all through the house  
> \--> you wish you could dream but forgot to somehow  
> \--> sing this lullaby to yourself  
> \--> sing this lullaby to yourself
> 
> ** Lullaby - Jack Johnson  
> ** Human Mettasans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to spare the 10th chapter angst and made it fluff oops. 
> 
> my youtuber au again.  
> it's my au of choice sry bout that i needed to write some fluff for cheering me up purposes.  
> im not 100% at writing mettaton but here we are, in robo hell. 
> 
> happy 10th chapter

it’s 3 am when Mettaton wakes up and  
he’s _still_ alone in bed.

quite frankly it’s a cold night and a certain somebody (his _personal space heater_ may he add) hasn’t yet come to bed to keep him warm. exhaustion is thick in his joints from the order rush earlier yesterday and thank fuck he has the day off today - but the only thing he wants to is snuggle up to his boyfriend and leech off his body heat.

there was one very important ingredient _missing_ to that want and he’s going to go get it.

Sans bed is so _warm_ compared to the air outside of the blankets but Neo sucks it up, the carpet stiff on his feet as he strides over to the computer chair sitting forlornly at the desk and grabbing the familiar blue hoodie from it.

to be short, it swallows him. it’s warm and smells completely of something he considers home (sandlewood, ocean, spice?) and it’s going to keep him company on his mission at hand. it only comes down a little past his waist and skirts out there, revealing his long legs clad in only boxers but hell it’s not like he was going outside. Sans was probably streaming or something - Neo just had to go claim him and remind him that _hey you have this beautiful man waiting for you in bed why the hell aren’t you keeping him warm._

typical.

in all honestly he loved Sans, he did. his boyfriend was short, adorable, and kind of an ass sometimes but it was never on purpose. he always apologized. Mettaton could search out some weird heaviness in his eyes that was never brought up between them, but he didn’t seem to affect their relationship. Sans was just sad sometimes and well, Neo just let him be sad.

sometimes Saturday nights just involved Sans laying his head in his boyfriend’s lap and fingers would find their way through his hair until he was asleep. being sad wasn’t anything be be ashamed about and still Sans apologized - hell, he should be apologizing for the _right_ things, as in not being in bed at a decent time to keep him warm.

 _ding ding_ he’s right, the light is sputtering from the doorway of Sans’ gaming room and soon Mettaton is in the middle of it. he finds him there. playing something - well, it looks indie. something soft, something gentle. that doesn’t take much effort or thought.

“darling,” Sans startles easily, nearly dropping the controller as he glances back at Neo and he looks far more tired than he usually does, “what are you still doing up? it’s 3 am.”

his voice is gravel, thick and hard to swallow, “i didn’t feel good. i couldn’t get myself to sleep.” the screen flashes with **PAUSED** and Neo wonders if he’s streaming. the camera is blinking green as if he’s facecamming - maybe he’s just recording a video to queue. it doesn’t matter.

“how about…” Neo crosses the room with ease and stoops down next to the chair a bit, “we make some tea to calm you down, and you come cuddle with me sugarskull?” he gives a soft smile and any annoyance he has melts away at the sight of Sans looking so ragged, the poor thing didn't know how to breathe half the time. “sound like a plan?”

he cups Sans’ cheeks and gently kisses him, lingering for a moment before kissing him right between the eyes. Sans nods and swallows a bit, “i’ve just been recording videos to queue.” his voice is soft and far lower in grit that before. Neo looks at the camera and then the recording program, using his arm to pull Sans further into himself.

“sorry guys, i’m taking coolskeleton to bed,” he pauses a moment to card his fingers through the shorter side of Sans’ hair, “he’s _bone tired_ and doesn’t know when to call it quits.” his boyfriend mutters something into the fur of the hood and gives a heavy sigh, nuzzling further against him as if seeking out that comfort. Neo smiles a bit, “he’ll see you tomorrow when he’s a little awake. as always, _tibia-_ continued.” Sans gives an groan at the pun and Neo can only laugh as he shuts everything down for the night, the computer whining in relief when it’s given a break.

Sans is already half asleep - figures. he only struggles a little bit as he pulls his boyfriend against his chest and cradles him close, picking him up from the chair and off the ground completely. there’s no struggle and Neo thinks there may even be no tea and Sans throws his arms around his neck and clings tightly, the sleepy sigh enough to tell him he just wants to lay down at this point.

“what am i going to do with you?” he teases gently as he walks back to the room, Sans only whining softly in response. Neo smiles and turns into the doorway, pushing the door closed with his hip since his arms are full. it takes minimal effort to lay his sleepy boyfriend down - it honestly takes more to shrug off the hoodie and hang it back up because _shit it’s cold_.

Sans is already cuddled up under the covers when he manages to finally slip back into bed. strong arms tangle around him and pull him close before he even have the chance to settle - and yes, _yes_ , this is how it’s supposed to be. Mettaton presses a soft kiss to his forehead and nuzzles his cheek against the top of Sans’ head as lips press a sleepy kiss to his neck, lingering there in the act as his boyfriend finally drifts off to sleep.

and he’s so _warm._

( and yes, when the video gets uploaded later, his fans absolutely lose it. Mettaton had never had so many inbox messages on tumblr or retweets in his life - some personal and some remarking how cute they were.

“why did you keep it in?” he asks Sans later as he’s perched at the computer editing videos, “not that i mind, i thought you wanted to keep us a little more private?”

his only answer is a soft smile, and Neo thinks that’s when he likes Sans best.

everything is a little warmer when he smiles.)


	11. and I know, times like this you just take it slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--> fall asleep in the pillows  
> \--> she got my heart in a choke hold  
> \--> and there she goes  
> \--> heart that pounds like a stereo  
> \--> you take me round and round like the merry go  
> \--> but one more ride baby here we go
> 
> ** inspired by Emmit Fenn - Painting Greys
> 
> ** Human Mettasans  
> ** Panic attack  
> ** Disassociation  
> ** Self harm a little bit I guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll get an update because i wrote some vent fluff after a really trashy couple days.  
> "i need some affection so lemme just write it out" honestly i work so weird.
> 
> youtuber au.  
> i have some canon stuff in the works and it was supposed to come next but here we are.  
> someone talk mettasans hc to me or any of my other fandoms (dues ex, infamous secondson, more undertale, adventure time, etc etc) on tumblr at writtenblackk because im sad and tired. 
> 
> sorry my poet comes out when im like this so this is probably just a jumbled mess oops.

_when he wakes it’s all the same again._ _  
_ _the snow outside and the wool blanket and_

_he’s shaking._

_sockets blown wide open and the bone the joints everything aches and it feels awkward being stripped of skin being so naked. empty. if he had a stomach it’d have dropped by now, sickness creeping into his throat and - but there’s nothing. the epitome of empty._

_what happened?  
_ _he had fallen asleep next to Neo as always and now he’s back underground? now he’s back to being alone in a room filled with dirty socks he can’t even be bothered to pick up?_

 _he sagged under the weight of it all and  
_ _Papyrus is calling his name for breakfast and he just_

 _he just  
_ _he just…_  
collapses. 

_oh fuck his bones are so tired and he wants to rip them from their joints and his hands are shaking against the wool and his fingers are pulling back and_

_“Sans!”_

_the impatient snap comes and no - is that his brother? it has to be it has to be it has to be because there’s nobody here he’s_ **_so alone_ ** _and he’s going to loop forever. he will never be happy. he will only taste it, he will never live it._

_“S A N S!”_

_he’s trying to throw the blanket off of him but it won’t let go, it twists around his legs and it’s a mess and he’s a mess and -_

“Sans.”

when he wakes it’s all the same again.   
the dark room. the comforter around him pulled tight.  
and Neo’s concerned face a beacon in the soft black.

“Sans,” there’s hands on his cheeks and he flinches, but they don’t waver, “there we go. sugarskull it was a dream, i’m right here.”

a dream?  
a dream?  
could he argue all the other times have been a dream too?  
is he in limbo, is that a dream too?  
that dream was a painful call back to some old reality, some forgotten timeline just like the others, just like the loop. always like the loop. a wool blanket, a cold room.

a dream?  
was he dreaming?

is he dead, is he dreaming?

his skin feels too tight around him like his bones don't want to wear the meat the muscle the everything anymore. his lungs ache and scream for air and he remembers long ago when he had to learn how to breathe. when he had to learn how to adjust. how to be something like a thought, wrapped in somebody’s head and written to life in some idealistic fashion. like it was convenient for him to breathe.

like it was convenient for him to breathe.  
“in, and out Sans.”

oh.

his nails tear at his chest because he’s forgotten he has to now and the panic surges forward and - ah. that hurt. Neo gently pulls them away from tender skin and what’s left is pebbling blood and inflamed. red.

he pulls in that first wheeze and his lungs are thankful - he coughs and struggles to sit up, only succeeding with Neo’s help. the hands on him make his skin crawl _he wants to crawl out of it_ but he doesn’t pull away from the hug and

his shoulders shake and the smallest admission of,

“i’m afraid to lose you,”  
is almost too much for him.

everything is fine he’s got it

cool calm collected until Neo says it.  
quiet, hushed, tired.

“i’m not leaving.” a pause, “i’ll always be here darling.”

Sans loses it then.

the statement ( _the promise)_ draws tears from his eyes and they’re thick and full of remorse, dread. that one day he won’t wake from the dream. that the loop will once again be full of reset after reset because some antsy kid can’t keep their hands to themselves.

the sob he chokes back in embarrassing and half muffled by Neo’s shoulder. he throws his arms around his fiance’s neck and holds on tightly - he’s forgotten how to breathe again. 

“baby no,” Neo is muttering against his temple, hushing him gently, “no don’t cry. you’re safe, right here with me.” he feels so _weak_ like this. curled up in Neo’s arms with the inability to stop the tears. this is out of character this is completely out of character because no, no he never cries. he doesn’t cry. Gaster taught him _not_ to cry because _crying will get you killed_ and he’s been numbed for years.

_well dad everything i tried got me killed so what’s the difference._

he’s clenching his teeth so hard that he’s lightheaded - he’s so exhausted oh god he just wants to cave in and call it quits. he’s so sick of this. so sick of living on a figurative edge. one push one strike of a knife and he’s over, he’s done.

there’s no cliffhanger - it’s the same old story again and again.  
maybe the characters are cast a little different but  
it’s the same outcome.

he dies.  
he lives.  
he dies.  
he lives again.

or was he dreaming?

Neo is holding him so tightly and he doesn’t want to let go in fear that if he unwinds, he’ll be thrown back to the beginning. a fresh start. dread looming in the near future.

“oh f-fuck,” he chokes, realizing how cold the fear strikes in his stomach, “oh god.”

is this what panic is?  
or is this limbo?

“Sugarskull,” the hum is sweet, melodic, low, and he raises his head to look at his fiance. eyes blurry with tears. a kiss pressed to his chin and then to his lips and - right between his eyes. the tension budges, at least a little bit.

it starts after a kiss to his forehead, the singing. something gentle. japanese. (something from his childhood? did Neo’s mom sing this to him once? tiny fingers clasped in clothing and pulling, pulling as he cried?) he doesn’t know what he’s exactly saying ( _bits and pieces_ ) and it comes in waves.

the calm.  
the storm.  
the calm.   
stagnant.

fingers are in his hair and trailing along his back, his chest reverberates with the song so softly sung. everything comes down - in a not so subtle crash. he flinches as he’s snapped back into reality and he sags against Neo, a deep ache left after all the panic has swept itself away.

“i’m right here,” he mutters between familiar lyrics, something that grounds him to the blankets, the sheets, against skin, “i’m right here Sans.”

a whimper, “i know.”

no puns. no jokes. just a broken monster. a broken monster borne into skin. into this - a simple skeleton. bare boned and backed into some metaphorical corner.

later - when Neo has him tucked back into the sheets, his song long over, Sans focuses on the way that Neo circles his thumb in the dip between his own thumb and forefinger. hyperaware of the reality between them. of the web woven in red and

how this is destined to repeat.  
he’s been thrown onto some merry-go-round without horses, clasping poles to survive the increase in speed. disorienting.

Sans wants to apologize as Neo looks at him with sleepy eyes - the toll this takes on him is obvious. but he doesn’t, instead settling for a mummered, “ _thank you_ ” pressed tightly into his naked shoulder.

sealed with a soft kiss.  
those eyes, god, they match that fucking selfless smile and Sans is jealous of the light in them. so ready to split at the seams in all the energy he wishes he could have again, “i love you Sans.”

the sun is coming up and it  
reaches across the bed,  
an ache in the color purple  
yellow  
red,  
a sleepy yawn spun in blood  
orange,  
a tinge of blue,

“ _...i love you too_.”

 

everything is quiet and the yellow flowers in the vase on the table

are wilting -

Sans exhales and 

 

the world tumbles to it's whole again.


	12. hey love - stay the fuck out of my home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \--> i've told you a thousand times  
> \--> 'cause my brain tells me you're dangerous,  
> \--> and my belly says you're just too hard to find
> 
> Moddi - Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im still on hiatus - i fixed my laptop but im having a lot of issues right now. 
> 
> more of a vent piece than anything.  
> fights are awful.  
> feelings are awful. 
> 
> gg sans.

Sans is trying to pick up the pieces.

everything tastes like metal.   
he’s tired - god he’s tired.

the picture frame is broken on the floor and he can’t bear to look at it anymore. the wood from it is splintered and snapped - the glass is crunched into the carpet into his joints his bones

his shoulders slump as he sighs and sits on the couch. his sockets ache. he can feel the pin prick pounding in the very back of his skull like there’s glass back there too. like it’s his teeth, the roof of his mouth.

fighting felt like shit.  
it was always explosive and made him feel like

fire. eating at him. like if he had skin it would be heaped on the floor at his feet. subservient. Mettaton’s voice was made for yelling because he’s a war machine and he’s drop dead deadly and Sans just cracks under the strain of his own anything above a whisper.

the house is silent - he pulls his knees against his ribcage and his grin is static like the air. haunting. like the ghosts don’t know how to find their way out, fingers curling at the yellow wallpaper and pacing, screeching. rubbing their faces against the door and

begging for a way out.

“come on reset,” he jokes softly to himself, misery drowning his being and he’s waiting for Mettaton to walk back through the door, hips cocked and lips twisted in a pout that’s threatening to give way into exhaustion, “get this dog out of the house.”

it’s hilarious, laughable -

oh god he’s ready to start begging for a reset to try and fix his joke of a life. of a relationship. _come on kid give me a do over_ \- he thinks he should have learned by now what to say and what not to say. maybe he should speak exclusively in puns so he’s never serious, never taken seriously. maybe everything should be a goddamn joke - fuck, it already is now.

_“you tricked him into loving you,” Flowey hissed, vines curling against the concrete and uprooting anything they could wrap themselves around, “you think if you hadn’t manipulated the time lines, that the bucket of bolts would had even given you the time of day?”_

_the face on the TV fizzled out into static, and then back into something that he had only seen in the worst of timelines, “he’s everything and you’re nothing - who are you kidding?”_

_(when the tv shattered under the weight of several bones, Sans felt nothing.)_

but he was right.  
Sans is nothing.  
a walking apparition, a ghost without home. cause. Papyrus would have been such a better match for Mettaton - why did he have to intervene?

oh he can feel it in the back of his teeth his jaw and the ache is pounding, a constant thing. everything is standing on end, teetering at the edge.

the heaviness beckons him to lay down and sink into the couch cushions. he’ll stay there until Mettaton comes home later and finds him in the same position - looking miserable. tired. sorry.

they patch things up - they always do.   
it’s an endless cycle that’s never quite broken, and each time Sans just falls back into the same slat he tore himself out of. he’ll knock himself down a couple pegs and he won’t be able to climb back up.  
it’s typical.

all things that last will come to an end and all that’s that begin will

come to last. Sans wakes up the next morning in bed next to MTT, the soft glow of his charging light the only thing seen. the sun isn’t up and

he closes his eyes again and maybe when he wakes he will  
be back in Snowdin, buried under fifty feet of snow and he won’t be able to feel his joints. won’t be able to feel a single thing. he’ll hear the explosion of machinery in the distance and know it’s his turn to spear a kid through the stomach and the blood will give way to bone.

 

_and the blood will give way to bone._


End file.
